


Gamesmanship

by voleuse



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-16
Updated: 2005-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-04 12:26:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She prefers the Neanderthal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gamesmanship

**Author's Note:**

> No spoilers.

Kate isn't sure how this happened.

Tony had lost a bet on a case, as the victim's wife _hadn't_ stolen the money. The stake in the bet had been a round of drinks. Kate made sure to order the froofiest cocktail imaginable, to offend his sensibilities, and a shot of vodka, straight up, to thwart his expectations.

Somewhere along the way, the stakes had changed.

Now, they're halfway hidden in an alley beside the bar. Tony's pants are around his knees, his mouth is on her throat. Her legs are wrapped around his waist, and she's garnering a wicked case of brick burn.

At the moment, though, she doesn't give a damn, because despite her previous ruminations on the subject, Tony's actually pretty good at this.

*

 

Afterwards, she combs her fingers through her hair and tries to calculate whether she can pretend this never happened.

Tony ties off the condom, tosses it into a nearby dumpster.

She wrinkles her nose. "Ew."

"What?" He zips up his pants, tucks the back of his shirt in. "You think I should bring it inside?"

She opens her mouth, but she doesn't have an answer.

The silence grows awkward, because she made the mistake of looking him in the eye.

His cell phone rings. Then, hers.

"It's Gibbs," Tony says.

She checks her caller ID. "McGee."

They answer.

"Hey, boss."

"What's up, McGee?"

"Nobody. We got a case?"

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

"I'll be right there."

"Give me ten minutes."

They hang up.

"Your car still at work?" she asks.

Tony nods.

"Okay." She picks her purse up from the cement, fishes her keys out. "Let's go."

*

 

The case is a messy one, with a lot of blood and a handful of suspects. It's easy to focus on the work, easier still not to dwell.

If the others notice the palpable lack of sniping, they don't say anything about it.

If Kate and Tony receive a few odd looks because of said lack, they don't say anything, either.

*

 

She stays out of Tony's way, even after the case ends, not because she's afraid of what he might say, but because she's afraid of what she might do.

Mostly, she wants to slap him in the face a couple of times. Not for any reason, really. It just seems like it would even the score between them, somehow.

Not that she's keeping score.

She knows she's being irrational, because Tony hasn't so much as smirked at her in the past week. He's been polite, respectful, and an altogether wonderful coworker.

She hates it.

She wants, more than anything, for Tony to make some immature, frat-boy joke about her, because then she could roll her eyes, maybe throw something at him. She wants things back the way they used to be.

Kate decides she's being crazy, so she calls Tony and asks if he wants to meet her for a drink.

*

 

Kate arrives at the bar before Tony does, and deliberately sits at the table they had taken last time. She orders the same drinks, leans back in her seat, and waits.

She sees him as soon as he walks through the door and, predictably, he looks directly at the table, at her.

He, unfortunately, doesn't leer, not even when he reaches the table and sees the drinks.

She's disappointed.

"Kate," he says as he slides into the booth. "What's going on?"

She knocks back the vodka shot before speaking. "This needs to stop."

He raises an eyebrow. "What does?"

"You. This." She gestures sharply between them. "Whatever's going on. Stop it."

"I don't understand, Kate." He takes a sip of his beer. "I think I've been the perfect gentleman."

"Yes," she grates, "you have. It's driving me crazy."

"Really?" He stares at her for a long, long minute. Then he smiles, and the smile, finally, tightens into the smirk she's been missing for the past week. "I knew you couldn't resist me."

She toys with the straw in her drink. Calculates. "Did you?"

"Uh-huh." He leans back, folds his arms. "You pretend that I don't have any effect on you, but what happened last week _proves_ you want me. You _like_ me."

She leans forward, puts her hand on the table. "That's right, Tony, I do."

He leans forward, covers her hand with his own. "So, you want to get out of here?"

"Yes," she says. Then, she grabs his beer with her other hand and dumps it over his head. "But not with you."

He sputters, and she stands, tossing a sheaf of bills on the table.

"What the hell?" He wipes beer out of his eyes.

She stoops, whispers in his ear. "Now we're even, Tony." She straightens, settles her purse on her shoulder. "See you at work."

She struts out of the bar, waves jauntily at a round-eyed waitress.

"This isn't over, Kate!" Tony shouts after her. "I'm going to--"

But she's out of the bar before he can finish his sentence.

*

 

Two days later, all the contents of Kate's desk disappear.

After searching for forty minutes, they find everything shoved into one of the containment units in the morgue.

Everybody steps back, expecting Kate to explode in a fit of DiNozzo-targeted violence.

She smiles.


End file.
